


All's Fair (In Love And War)

by Newtgitsune, Please_Tommy_Please



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Badass Thomas, Betrayal, Confessions, Deaths, Denial, Did I tell you it's dramatic, Gang AU, Gay Crises, Guns, Leather Jackets, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soulmates, Swearing, They're all gangsters, Tolerance? Who is she, alleyways, badass newt, because it's dramatic, because why the fuck not, romeo and juliet - Freeform, smoking is bad for you children don’t do it, soulmates can't physically hurt each other, thomas is an idiot but we love him, vv dramatic, yes there's multiple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-05-14 20:59:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14777147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtgitsune/pseuds/Newtgitsune, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Please_Tommy_Please/pseuds/Please_Tommy_Please
Summary: When Newt's given an order to take out one of the higher ranks of his gang's rival, the least he expected was to come across his soulmate- a handsome man with a rebellious spark and a mouth that he can't keep shut. Unfortunately, tolerance isn't a word his gang's that familiar with.Romeo and Juliet, Gangs, and Soulmates all packed together in one modern AU.





	1. Bullets

**Author's Note:**

> The voice got closer.  
> Newt stepped into the light.  
> He cocked his gun. 
> 
> Bang.
> 
> There was no blood. No scream. No sound of a body dropping to the floor.  
> There was, however, a bullet laying at the man’s feet, pressed together as if it had hit an impenetrable wall. 
> 
> Newt’s blood ran cold. 
> 
> “Oh, fuck, no.”

“Irving, you know what to do.”

Newt glanced to the side, showing his gun in response. The metal reflected the bright sunlight, making him squint his eyes. He shoved the gun in his waistband, making sure the safety was on first. 

“Good. Go get that Murphy kid. With him out of the way, we’ll be able to wipe out this entire fuckin’ pest in one go.” The man, Vince, nodded at him. “Don’t let Lawrence down. You know what happens if you do.”

Newt swallowed the lump in his throat, pushing away the fear spiking in his chest. He’d seen the punishments. “I won’t, Vince. Trust me.” he rose his hand, pointing two fingers at Vince, mouthing _bang_. “He’ll be dead before you know it.”

“Good. Then make it happen.”

***

Newt slipped into the shadows, away from the busy streets, into a narrow alleyway. Soon, he heard a voice- just as planned. It seemed to be on a phone call, speaking into the device in a more than irritated tone.

The plan was a piece of cake. The target would pass through this alley on his way back from a meeting, as he usually did. All someone had to do was take him out, leave their mark. This man was in the top ranks of their enemies army. Cut the head off a snake, and the body will follow.

Newt had been picked for the job- he’d expected it. He was cold, to put it simply. Killing was _easy_. Pull a trigger, hit a target, leave a mark. This was just another someone that needed a bullet in his head. Simple as that.

The voice got closer.

Newt stepped into the light.

He cocked his gun.

 _Bang._  

There was no blood. No scream. No sound of a body dropping to the floor.

There was, however, a bullet laying at the man’s feet, pressed together as if it had hit an impenetrable wall. 

Newt’s blood ran cold.

“Oh, fuck, no.”

He dropped his gun and moved forward, grabbing the astonished man by the collar and slamming him against the wall. 

“You don’t tell anyone about this. Not a single word. Got that?” Newt growled, tightening his grip on the leather jacket, his knuckles turning white.

“What if I do?” the other asked, a challenging, rebellious spark in his eyes. “Newt, this isn’t something-”

“How do you know my name?” Newt narrowed his eyes, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

“Are you serious?” the eye-rolling made his blood boil. “You’re one of the Grievers’ best assassins. What kind of a person would I be if I didn’t know you?”

Newt clenched his jaw, eyes flicking up and down his target. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll keep your mouth shut, or I’ll cut your bloody tongue out.”

A snort. “You can’t hurt me. We’re Soulma-”

“Don’t say that word!” Newt snapped, pushing him back against the wall. His head hit the bricks, but Newt knew it wouldn’t hurt. Of course it wouldn’t. “We’re not _Soulmates._ This never happened. And if you speak a _word_ about it, The next time you wake up, it’ll be six feet under the ground. Got it?”

A nod.

Newt glared at the man for a couple more seconds before he stepped back, releasing his grip. He averted his eyes and whipped around, scooping his gun off the ground and tucking it back in his waistband, shoving his hands in his pockets and hurrying away.

“Thomas.”

Newt stopped walking and looked over his shoulder with a frown. “What?”

“My name. It’s Thomas.” a pause. “Thought you should know.”

Newt huffed and turned back around, moving back into the shadows, his heart protesting aggressively.

He was screwed.

***

Newt silently closed the door behind him, releasing a shaky, nervous breath when he was greeted with nothing but silence.

He turned around and jumped when he stood face to face with Vince.

“Is it done?”

Newt took a deep breath and looked down at his shoes, awkwardly shuffling his feet. “No.”

Vince grinded his teeth. “Why not?”

Newt looked up, locking eyes with the man. “He wasn’t there.” he replied with a stony face, his expression blank.

“Lawrence isn’t gonna be too happy about this.”

Newt nodded grimly, averting his eyes once again. Vince sighed, reaching out and laying his hand on Newt’s shoulder, squeezing it. “You’re one of our best members, Irving. He’ll go easy on ya. I wouldn’t worry too much. Everyone makes mistakes.”

Newt rubbed his eyes with his hands, choking out a soft “yeah”.

“Come on. Let’s get this out of the way, then.”

“Good evening, everyone. How are we all feeling?”

The crowd cheered.

Newt felt sick.

Lawrence was a performer. He had a certain charm, despite his looks. Newt could never look at him for too long without feeling off. The hole in the man’s face where his nose should have been wasn’t pretty, to say the least, and the scars that stretched across his eye didn’t make it any better. He was the perfect mix of charismatic and terrifying, which made him a fantastic leader. A fantastic tyrant.

“Tonight is a very special night.” Lawrence’s voice echoed around the room, a small pause between every word. “We have several... matters to attend to. Let’s start with the good news!” Lawrence’s eyes flicked around the room, eyeing the crowd from his balcony. “Newt! There you are.”

Newt’s heart sank.

“Come over here. Don’t be shy.” Newt could _hear_ the grin in his voice as he stepped forward, his head down.

“Newt here got an order. An important order, in fact. See, he needed to take out the Murphy kid.”

More cheers rose from the crowd, each and every one making Newt cringe, making him feel small, vulnerable, a baby antelope surrounded by a pack of lions.

“Well, Newt..” Lawrence’s voice got low, a dangerous tone lacing the words. “How did that go? Because right now I’m imagining a funeral happening over at the Slicers, am I right?”

Newt breathed in.

Out.

In.

He looked up.

“No, you’re not.”

Silence.

Somehow, the silence was even more terrifying. 

“I’m sorry, I must’ve heard that wrong.” Lawrence let out a humourless chuckle. “See, I thought I heard that you said that you didn’t take him out. But, hey, I’m getting old. My hearing isn’t as good as it was. So, _Newt,_ care to repeat?”

“I didn’t take him out.” Newt repeated Lawrence’s words, fighting the tremble in his voice. “He’s still alive.”

The sound of a gun being cocked chilled Newt to his bones.

“Newt, you know what we do with people who disobey orders, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Newt replied quietly, staring down at the ground in front of his feet. The sound of footsteps filled the silent room, and soon joined by the quiet noise of people shuffling to get out of the way.

The nozzle of the gun was cold against his forehead.

“Care to explain yourself before I put a bullet in your head, Newt?”  
Newt flicked his eyes up at the man, fighting to maintain the eye contact.

“He wasn’t there. Must’ve taken another route,” he spoke, unable to keep the fear from seeping into his words.

“And you couldn’t have checked other possible routes?” the gun pressed harder against his forehead.

“I didn’t want to risk running into other Slicers.” Newt mumbled.

Lawrence was silent for a moment before he spoke up again. “So you didn’t want to risk being seen. You know what I call that? Cowardice. Our own Newt Irving, a coward. Who would have thought?” another cold chuckle sounded.

The gun stayed.

And then it didn’t.

“You’re lucky I’m such a merciful man.” Lawrence’s voice boomed, and Newt flinched at how loud it was. “And that you’re one of our best men.”

Newt couldn’t stop a sigh from escaping his throat, careful relief flooding him.

“But of course, I can’t let this go unpunished.”

The sound of the gun going off was deafening.

Soon, however, it was replaced by a loud scream, which Newt only realised later was being ripped from his own throat. A searing pain shot through his right shin, flaring up his leg, his entire body feeling as if it was set on fire. His leg gave out under him and he crashed to the ground, clutching his shin, hot tears springing into his eyes.

“Let him be! He brought this upon himself.” Lawrence’s voice alone made Vince, who had approached Newt, stumble away. “He can take care of himself. After this, that is.”

Lawrence snapped his fingers and two men came forward, dragging someone along. Newt managed to lift his head, making out the figure of a woman through his blurred vision.

“This is Rachel. Say hi, Rachel.” Lawrence approached the woman, nodding at the guards to let her go. Her body fell to the ground, and she pushed herself up with shaky arms, resting on her hands and knees. 

Rachel didn’t say hi.

Lawrence clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Where are your manners? Look at me when I’m talking to you.” His foot shot forward, hitting Rachel in the chin, making her head snap up. She let out a pained whimper, but kept her head held high, her icy eyes spewing fire.

“There we go! That wasn’t that hard, was it?” Lawrence let out a cold laugh. “Now, I’m sure you know why you’re here.” he turned to face the silent crowd. “Rachel here found her Soulmate. Congratulations, Rachel.” The sadistic smile was wiped off Lawrence’s abhorrent face, replaced by a disdainful scowl.

“Now, the problem here is that her Soulmate- what was his name, _Aris?_ ” Rachel’s eyes went wide at the name, panic flashing in them. “Aris. He’s not one of us. _In fact,_ he’s a fucking Slicer! Who would’ve thought?”

Lawrence crouched down next to Rachel, and if looks could kill, Lawrence had been turned to ash.

“Don’t look at me like that, Rachel. See, we wouldn’t have had a problem if you’d reported this to us. To me. We could have handled this. Taken care of him. But you didn’t. No, what you did...” He shook his head. “You kept meeting him. And my little birdies have told me that you had plans to run off. And I can’t have that.”

Rachel stayed silent, breathing heavily.

“And you won’t even try to defend yourself.” Lawrence let out a long sigh. “And here I was, thinking you were brave.” He pushed himself back up to his feet, spinning on his heels, facing the rest.

“Our number one rule,” he shouted, and Newt flinched, his heart hammering in his chest, and _goddamn,_ his shin hurt, “is that we do _not_ associate with Slicers. We do not talk to them, we do not befriend them, and we sure as _hell_ do not have them as our Soulmate. Is that clear?”

A maniacal uproar came from the crowd, curses, booing, and yesses all mixed together to create a noise one would suspect could only be heard in the deepest depths of Hell itself.

A gunshot sounded, and the noise only became louder.

The sight of blood and brains splattered out across the floor made Newt feel sick.

“Because _that_ is what happens if you do!” Lawrence bellowed, holding the smoking gun up in the air for everyone to see. “And she got off _easy._ If I _ever_ hear about a situation like this again, then you better pray for whatever God is up there to save you from my wrath.”

His voice was low, dangerous, and a smirk that could only be described as pure and utter evil stretched across Lawrence’s misshapen face. With another snap of his fingers everyone cleared out of the room, leaving Newt on the floor, with a bleeding, hot, pulsing shot wound and nothing else to accompany him but Rachel’s dead body.

A sob tore through Newt’s body as he stared at the red stains on the floor.

He was fucked. Absolutely, completely, utterly fucked.


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho breathed out something like a laugh. “Nah, its nothin’. Just...I don't know, I was just wondering what the guy’s doing right now.”
> 
> Newt faltered. “Who? Thomas?”
> 
> “Yeah,” Minho said. “I mean, you did try to shoot him. I wonder what he thinks about it all.”
> 
> Newt groaned and buried his head in his hands. “You know what? That's a good bloody question.”

Another sharp pang shot up his leg, followed by a sigh in relief as Newt finally pulled the bloodied bullet out of his calf with his pair of tweezers. He let out a shaky breath, dumping the bullet on the floor, the tweezers falling out of his trembling hands. He looked on as another stream of blood seeped out of the wound, staining his pale skin red, the droplets trailing along his bare foot until they joined the scarlet beads on the floor. He set down his foot, ignoring the warm wetness sticking to his sole.

“What the fuck, Newt?”

Newt’s head shot up to see a figure standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He was clad in their signature jacket— leather with a stylized _G_ on the right pec. His arms were folded over one another, and his eyes showed a confusing mix of concern and sadness. Newt let out a sigh and set back, resting his hands in his lap.

“It’s good to see you too, Minho.”

Minho stepped forward and grabbed the backrest of a chair standing in the corner of the room they were in, pulling it forward and flipping it around, sitting down on it backwards. He rested his arms on the backrest, leaning forward, facing Newt.

“You don’t miss. You don’t give up,” Minho stated, his eyes boring into Newt’s.

Newt said nothing.

“So, what happened?” Minho demanded, tilting his head up a little, never looking away. Newt brought a hand up to rub his eyes, unsure of how to explain.

“Look, Min—”

“And I want the truth, Newt,” Minho interrupted. “The _truth_. Not that bullshit story you fed to Lawrence.”

Newt should've known that Minho would see right through him. They've been friends for far too long to expect otherwise.

“I just…” Newt sighed. “I don't know how to explain it.”

“He _was_ there, wasn't he,” Minho said. He phrased it more as a statement than a question.

Newt dipped his head. Minho took the affirmation for what it was and continued.

“So, he was there. Why couldn’t you kill him? I mean, you’ve never had problems with that before. So why now?” Minho raised an eyebrow.

“Min, I tried...” Newt mumbled, excuses coming up in his head one by one. He pushed them all away. No matter how closed off he was, to Minho, he’d always be an open book. He took a deep breath and looked up, locking eyes with his friend. “I found my Soulmate.” 

Minho’s determined, fiery expression disappeared off his face like snow before the sun, replaced by a wide grin. “Dude, that’s awesome! How did you find her? Were you too busy with her? Is that why you failed your mission?” Minho smirked cheekily, not noticing how Newt internally cringed at the pronoun he used.

Newt stayed silent, staring at Minho with a sullen look, and he saw something click inside Minho’s head. His friend leaned back on his chair, the smile falling off his face.

“Oh, _shit_.”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Newt sighed, hiding his face in his hands. “Min, I don’t know what to do. I’m screwed. Completely screwed.” He let himself fall back on the bed he was sitting on. His leg protested at how it was moved up so suddenly, and a soft hiss in pain escaped him.

“Yeah, you are.” Minho sighed along with him.

“Thanks, dick.”

“Hey, I’m just telling the truth. Lawrence can _not_ find out about this. You saw what happened with Rachel...” Minho’s voice trailed off.

“Yes, I fucking saw what happened to Rachel,” Newt snapped, pushing himself up on his elbows to glare at Minho. “And that _Aris_ person? I’ve heard of him. He’s one of the lower ranks. Thomas is, one, a high rank, and two, a _guy._ So I’m even more fucked.” He clenched his jaw, the muscle in his neck twitching as he did so.   
  
“Thomas,” Minho repeated, nodding along with Newt’s words. “And... If you tell Lawrence, he’ll know you lied to him. So that’s no good.”

Newt threw his hands up, laying back down. “I rest my bloody case.” 

Minho was silent, his eyes cast down, eyebrows knitted together as he was lost in thought. “You know, I could do it for you.”

Newt lifted his head, looking at Minho with one eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”

“I could take him out for you. That way you’re safe, and you won’t have to deal with this anymore.”

Panic flared up in Newt’s chest and he shot up. “No, no, no. Don’t you _fucking_ dare. He’s my Soulmate, Minho. You can’t just.. you can’t kill him,” Newt rambled, eyes wide, and Minho held out his hands, palms out, as if to calm a wild animal.

“Okay, okay, calm. It was just a suggestion.”

Newt took a deep breath, then exhaled shakily. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at the drops of blood on the floor. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I don’t even _know_ this guy.”

Minho let out a soft chuckle. “He’s your Soulmate. Of course you don’t want him dead. I’d be worried if you’d said yes.”

Newt frowned. “Then why’d you offer?”  
  
Minho shrugged. “Just seemed like the right thing to do, I don't know.”

“Yeah, well, it's not gonna happen,” Newt said, shifting his leg into a more comfortable position. “So you can forget that idea right buggin’ now.”

“Okay,” Minho agreed, and the pair of them fell silent for a long moment.

Newt shifted his leg again, attempting to alleviate some of the pressure on it. Minho noticed the movement, and he cleared his throat to get Newt’s attention.

“So, how's your leg?” Minho asked. 

Newt shrugged, the easiest explanation he could come up with. Minho fixed him with a look that screamed _bullshit_ , and he raised his eyebrows.

 Newt huffed a sigh.

“Well, I got shot, so I think you can guess how great I’m feelin’,” he replied, the sarcasm dripping off his words. Minho rolled his eyes, and Newt bit his lip before speaking again, his voice softer this time. “But at least I got the bullet out. That’s somethin’.”  
  
“I suggest cleaning it out,” Minho said, eying the wound. “I mean, unless you want it to get infected. Who _knows_ what's on the bullets Lawrence picks up.”

“That's a bloody good point,” Newt agreed, and turned his attention to the still-bleeding hole in his leg. He gestured to the table behind Minho. “Grab me those bandages, will ya?”

Minho complied without a word, handing them over. Then he cocked his head at Newt, expression thoughtful.

“Out with it,” Newt said, “I can see your thoughts spinnin’ up there.”

Minho breathed out something like a laugh. “Nah, its nothin’. Just...I don't know, I was just wondering what the guy’s doing right now.” 

Newt faltered. “Who? Thomas?”

“Yeah,” Minho said. “I mean, you did try to shoot him. I wonder what he thinks about it all.”

Newt groaned and buried his head in his hands. “You know what? That's a good bloody question.”

***

“Teresa!” Thomas yelled, voice booming through the quiet building. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “ _Teresa_!”

“Jesus, Tom, literally shut the fuck up.”

Thomas grinned when he heard her reply, sticking his hands in his pockets as he rounded the corner, suddenly standing face-to-face with her.

“What’s got you so happy?” she asked, raising one eyebrow, unimpressed.

Thomas moved the bullet in his pocket around between his fingers, running them along the sharp edges, compressed together when it hit his forehead with tremendous speed. It should’ve killed him, or hurt him at the least, but he hadn’t felt a thing. He grasped the bullet in his hand and pulled it out, showing it to Teresa.

She looked from the bullet to his expectant face, both eyebrows high on her forehead now. “Am I supposed to be impressed by whatever this is?" 

Thomas sighed in exasperation, shoving the bullet toward her. “I got shot. _This_ is the bullet.”

Realization slowly dawned on her face.

“You—” She stopped, speechless. Thomas grinned, dropping the compressed bullet into her hand.

“I found my Soulmate,” he confirmed, beaming. “Isn't that _awesome_?”

“You...they…” Teresa struggled. Finally she found the words, voice incredulous. “And they tried to _shoot_ you?” 

“Yup,” Thomas said. Teresa stared at him. She was probably wondering whether he'd gone insane. 

Thomas himself couldn't say.

“So, you found your Soulmate, and they decided to shoot you? As a confirmation or something?” Teresa held the bullet up, the pale fluorescent lighting reflecting off the pressed metal.  
  
“Not exactly,” Thomas pursed his lips together, unable to hide how excited he was. “I think he was supposed to take me out. But hey, it didn’t work, and I’m still here, _and_ I’ve found my Soulmate, so, double win, right?”

Teresa looked at Thomas, blue eyes stretched open wide. “ _He?_ ”

“Oh, that’s what you’re concerned about? Not the fact that he tried to shoot me?” Thomas snorted, holding his hand out for the bullet. She gave it back to him immediately.

“Well, that too, but...” Teresa furrowed her brows, being silent before continuing her sentence. “He had to take you out? Who did you piss off this time?” She rested her hands on her hips, chewing on her lower lip.

Thomas shrugged. “The Grievers, I guess.”

Teresa’s mouth fell open. “He’s a fucking _Griever?_ Thomas, no. You can’t do this. We have to... if someone else finds out, you’re in big trouble,” she warned, and Thomas rolled his eyes. 

“I _know,_ Teresa. Which is why I’m going to be extra careful.” Teresa gave him a look that screamed _really? careful?_ and Thomas let out a sigh. “Hear me out. No one else will know about this. I’m great at keeping secrets.”   
  
“You literally just screamed that you found your Soulmate.”

“First of all, I did _not,_ ” Thomas put the bullet back in his pocket. “Second of all, you’re my best friend. Of course you have to know. I just won’t tell anyone else. It’s not like I can do anything else, right? I mean, he’s my _Soulmate_. I can’t just ignore that.”

“But you’ll _have_ to. You know what the Grievers are like. If anyone finds out, you’re as good as dead. I heard that someone here was in the same situation. Aris, or something? His Soulmate was a Griever too.” Teresa looked at her feet.   
  
“Was?”

Teresa put two fingers to her head, and Thomas’s heart sank. “And... What happened to Aris?”

Teresa shrugged. “No idea. No one’s seen him since. Some say he’s run off, tried to find someplace safe. Others say he couldn’t take living without his Soulmate.”

All the excitement Thomas had felt vanished, and he was silent for a moment, the bullet feeling heavy in his pocket. Then a newfound courage swept through him, and he looked up again, determination filling his heart. “Well, I’m not like Aris. I know how to be careful, silent. You know me, Tee. I’ll be fine.”

Teresa sighed, running a hand down her face. “If you say so. Just know that I’m _not_ behind this. You shouldn’t engage with Grievers. They’re no good.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Everyone says that all the time, and that’s all I hear. No explanation, nothing. Just that _they’re no good_ and that we shouldn’t deal with them unless it’s in a fight. Why is that? Why does no one tell us anything?”

Teresa shrugged, letting out _another_ sigh. “Tom, I don’t know everything. All I know is that their leader is a fucking psychopath. And you don’t want to rub him the wrong way. You don’t want to end up like Aris’s Soulmate.”

Teresa had a good point. _Everyone_ knew that Lawrence was crazy. To the point where he was willing to kill his own people without pause.

Ava would never do something like that.

At least, Thomas didn't _think_ so.

He tried not to think about what happened to Aris, and pulled the bullet back out of his pocket to look at it, rolling it around between his fingers.

He looked up to see that Teresa was gone. His gaze fell back to the lump of metal in his palm.

 _This could be bad,_ he thought. _Really_ _bad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! Friends <3
> 
> Sooooo as you probably saw (or not lmao) this work is now a collab with my friend @Please_Tommy_Please! I love her work and we started talking and she offered to help and,,,, well look where we're at  
> Love you Cass <3
> 
> So, of course the boys were gonna spill. You can't hold everything in. Especially something like finding your Soulmate. Was it the best idea though? Guess we'll find out. ;) 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, and feedback are always appreciated!
> 
> <3


	3. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas frowned. “You don't want me here?”
> 
> “No, I really don't,” Newt said sharply, quirking an eyebrow. “And if you know what's good for ya, you'll walk out of here right now and never come back.”
> 
> Even saying the words made Newt feel nauseous.
> 
> I'm fucked, he thought grimly.

A month.

It had been a month since Thomas had seen Newt, and he was getting impatient.

And driving Teresa nuts as well.

“Tee, it’s been _weeks_ ,” he sighed, flopping down on the couch in the living room. 

“And so I’ve been told. Four times. In the past five minutes,” Teresa answered, growing weary. “Can you stop moaning about it? You can’t see him. Period.”

“You know me. I’m good at hiding myself. I can just sneak in there. See him. Know he’s alright. Then I’ll be on my way.” Thomas lifted his head to look at Teresa where she sat in the armchair. “All you have to do is cover for me. Make up an excuse when someone comes to look for me. That’s all.”

“No, Tom.” Teresa rolled her eyes. “I’m not helping you with this. We have rules for a reason, okay? They’re there to protect us. I’m not helping you break them.”

Thomas huffed a sigh and let his head fall back down against the cushions. “Fine. I’ll just have to do it myself then.”

“No,” Teresa warned, sitting up straight and glaring at him. “You won’t. You’ll stay right here. Stay away from that _Griever_.” She spat out the title, visibly disgusted.

Thomas simply sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he mumbled. He raised his hands to rub at his eyes, moving them back to take them through his hair, staring at the white ceiling. “I'll stay away from him.”

***

Thomas kept his word for a record-breaking two days.

It couldn't be said that he didn't try, though. 

However, when Ava asked for a volunteer to go figure out if the Grievers were planning something, he _really_ couldn’t refuse.

“We all know the Grievers. Sly backstabbers are what they are,” Ava had said. “No matter how much we want and try to keep the peace, we can never be sure how and when they’ll attack. They’ve tricked us before. Never again.”

Ava’s voice had been cold and determined as she looked out over her followers. Janson had been standing behind her, shadowing her wherever she went. The man gave Thomas the creeps. There was something about him—his face, his demeanor—that just put him off.

“This time, we’ll be one step ahead of them. We’ll be prepared,” Ava had continued, and cheers had risen from the crowd. “So, we’ll need to know their plan. We need someone to find out what they’re planning. Always.” Her eyes had skimmed across the people below her.  
  
“So, like a spy?” A voice—Chuck’s voice—had piped up, to which Ava had hesitated and nodded.

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

That was when Ava’s eyes had met Thomas’s.

“I'll do it,” he'd said. As one of their top ranks, Ava had been unsure. It had, in fact, been Teresa to convince Ava to let him do it.

So, that’s what had landed him in his current situation. He was back on their couch, trying with all his might to tune out of the lecture Teresa was giving him about what he should and shouldn’t do.

“Just because I helped you get this position, that doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly okay with you and... him. And you still shouldn’t go near him. Got that?”

Teresa paused, and that earned Thomas's attention enough to make him look up from the dagger he'd been securing into his harness.

She was glaring at him. “Tom, are you even listening to me?”

He waved a hand vaguely. “Yeah, yeah. Stay out of the way, don't go near him.”

“Don't go near _any_ of them,” Teresa corrected, and Thomas groaned, but ultimately agreed.

He strapped the dagger into place and stood. He pulled the harness over his head, adjusting the fit and rolling his shoulders a few times.

“Hey.”

Thomas looked up, quirking an eyebrow.

“Be careful,” Teresa said. Thomas walked over and pulled her into a fierce hug, patting her back.

“I will,” he said. “I promise.”

***

Thomas would've estimated the walk to be around an hour, but he spent most of the time thinking rather than paying attention to the way the sun began to set and his surroundings began to darken.

 _What's he gonna think?_ Thomas wondered, idly kicking at a small chunk of pavement.

He paused, a small frown slowly starting to crease his brow. _He wouldn't...he wouldn't try to kill me again, would he?_  

A part of Thomas's mind argued that, no, of course he wouldn't, not now that Newt knew they were Soulmates.

But a larger part of him, the more rational part, hesitated. Newt was an assassin, and a _good_ one, at that. One of the best, to Thomas's knowledge. And it was Newt’s _job_ to kill people. 

Of course, he'd be unsuccessful in any attempts to kill Thomas due to the obvious, but that didn't mean Newt wouldn't immediately call Lawrence and turn Thomas in. Then he'd be dead for sure.

 _You're not giving him enough credit,_ he thought to himself. _At this point, after failing, he probably won't try killing you a second time. If anything, someone else is being assigned to do it._  

“Oh, great,” he huffed. Then looked around, suddenly a bit nervous. Sure, he could defend himself, but not from a threat he couldn't see.

 _Besides,_ he thought, _my biggest priority right now is trying to find Newt in the first place. It's not like I can just_ walk _in there and demand to see him. I'd be shot on sight._

“Why didn't I think of that before?” he asked, mentally berating himself for his own stupidity. 

The sound of a gun cocking made Thomas's blood run cold.

"What are you doing here?" a low voice asked, and Thomas slowly turned around. Apparently, he wasn't as sneaky as he’d hoped to be. Being lost in his thoughts hadn't really helped.

He raised his hands above his head, narrowing his eyes against the light of the street lantern blinding him. A figure stepped into the light pooling below it, and Thomas could feel his heart beating in his throat when he saw the muzzle of a gun aimed at him.

Then the gun was lowered, and Thomas frowned in confusion.

"I know you," the person—a man, around his age—told him. Thomas tilted his head to the side. "You're Thomas Murphy."

"I'm- I'm sorry, have we met?" Thomas asked, his voice nothing more than a rasp.

A grin spread across the man's face. "No. But you've met Newt."

Thomas lowered his hands when the stranger spoke his Soulmate's name. "You know Newt?"

The man nodded and stepped forward. "The name's Minho. I'm Newt's friend."

A hesitant smile tugged on Thomas's lips. "Did you know I was gonna be here?"

Minho shrugged, shoving the gun back in his waistband. "No. But it's not like you were trying to be silent, were you?"

Thomas’s smile fell, and Minho's grin only widened. "Oh, you _were._ ”

He hummed, clearly amused. “Well, you're lucky I found you first. If someone else had been the one to catch you 'sneaking' around, you'd be lying on the ground with a bullet in your head."

Thomas huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, doesn't surprise me. Wouldn't be the first time that someone tried that."

Minho smirked. "So I've been told."

Thomas glanced down at his hands, soon looking up at Minho again. "Do you... Do you think you could help me get to Newt? I'd like to talk to him." His voice cracked as Minho's smirk vanished immediately.

Minho took a step closer, leaning over. "Am I hearing this right? You want me to bring you into the home of the _Grievers_ , the same people who'd like to see your head on a stake, and take you to meet one of the most deadly people in there, someone who's definitely not as excited about seeing you as you are about seeing him?"

Thomas pursed his lips. The idea did sound absolutely idiotic, when he said it like that. 

"Basically, yeah."

Minho stared at him for a moment, eyes looking him up and down with an indecipherable expression, before he leaned back, relaxed his shoulders and looked Thomas in the eyes, the smirk playing on his lips once again.

"Sure, that can be arranged." 

Thomas's eyes widened at the unexpected answer. "Wait, for real? You'll help me?"

Minho nodded and turned around. He took a few steps away from Thomas, before he halted and looked over his shoulder. "Well, come on then. What are you waiting for?"

Thomas smiled carefully, hope tugging at his heart. He quickly stepped forward, catching up to Minho as he'd already begun to move away into the shadows. _That seemed to be a theme,_ Thomas thought, softly chuckling.   
  
“What’s so funny?” Minho looked at him with one eyebrow raised. Thomas shook his head with a grin. “It’s nothing. Just... this whole situation is so ridiculous.”   
  
Minho shot Thomas a lopsided grin before facing the road again. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

***

The sounds of shuffling made Newt tense, gaze flicking over to the door. His hand hovered over his pistol, eyes narrowing.

Last time, Minho had walked in without Newt even _noticing_ , too focused on his leg. Newt was determined not to let it happen again.

The shuffling halted. Newt’s fingers twitched.

Then someone was knocking, a rapid, too-familiar rhythm.

Newt breathed out a sigh and moved his hand back to his knee.

The door swung open.

“Newt, you're not allowed to be mad.”

“What did you do?” Were the first words to escape Newt’s mouth, fixing Minho with his hard gaze.

Minho’s smile was sheepish, and Newt was two seconds from hobbling over there, grabbing Minho, and shaking him until he spilled, but that's when he moved, revealing someone behind him.

Someone Newt recognized.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Newt hissed. He pushed himself to his feet, his mouth set in a firm line.

“Sit down, you're gonna hurt yourself,” Minho said, and Newt scowled.

“What are you _doing_ , Minho? You're going to get all three of us killed,” Newt bit out, taking a moment (and a deep breath) to get his anger under control.

Minho ushered Thomas inside and shut the door behind him.

“Look, Minho began, “this dumb shank-”

“What happened to your leg?” Thomas said. His eyes were locked on Newt’s shin and the swath of bandages there.

“What the fuck do you think? I got shot for not killing your stupid arse.” 

Thomas's eyes grew comically wide. “ _What_?”

Newt groaned, raking a hand through his hair. He really needed a shower. “Bloody hell, do I need to repeat everything for you?”

“I-I didn't…”

Newt blinked in surprise at the distraught expression on Thomas’s face. After all, it wasn't like they knew each other. Not really. Thomas had been his target, that's all. He’d have been dead right now if the circumstances had been different.

Unsure what else to do, Newt sat back down, surveying Thomas with an odd sort of curiosity.

Thomas's chest heaved with a shaky breath. “So that's...that's my fault.”

Newt opened his mouth, prepared to confirm his words. But he paused. Hesitated. His mouth snapped shut.

He looked to Minho for assistance, but he just shrugged.

“Look,” Newt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “how long were you plannin’ on staying here?”

“Not long, don't worry. I was just dropping in to say hi.”

Newt stared at him, incredulous. “‘To say hi’?” he echoed.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.”

Minho snorted, and Newt couldn't help but roll his eyes.

“Go home, Thomas. If anyone sees you here, you'll get your bloody head blown off before you can even think to move.”

Thomas frowned. “You don't want me here?”

“No, I really don't,” Newt said sharply, quirking an eyebrow. “And if you know what's good for ya, you'll walk out of here right now and never come back.”

Even saying the words made Newt feel nauseous.

 _I'm fucked_ , he thought grimly.

Thomas's face dropped. “Oh.”

And Newt had to press his lips together and look away. “Minho, take him back to wherever you found him. I'm sure he'll be able to get back from there.”

Minho hesitated. “Newt, are you-”

“Yes, I'm sure. Go, before it gets any darker out.”

Newt avoided his gaze.

“...Yeah, sure,” Minho finally said. “Come on, Thomas.”

Newt glanced up to see Thomas looking at him, something akin to hope written on his face, and that confused Newt more than anything.

Thomas shot him a smile. “See ya.”

He opened the door and stepped out. Newt stared after him, eyes locked on the doorframe for a long time. Too long.

“Minho,” Newt said, stopping him right before he could follow.

The man in question quirked an eyebrow. Newt looked down at his lap.

“Keep him safe, yeah?” Newt said, and the words came out softer than he'd like to admit.

Minho’s lips curved into a small smile. “You got it, boss.”

The door clicked shut, but Newt didn't look up for a long while, shaken to his core by the unexpected course of events the evening had taken.

“What am I supposed to do?” he whispered. But there was no one listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahahahhah this took way too long
> 
> Well, despite the long-ass time it took us to upload, we hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one might feature some more characters and will hopefully explain more about the gangs but honestly who knows we don't plan shit out until the last goddamn second this fic is a Hot Mess
> 
> as always, kudos, comments, and feedback is greatly appreciated!! <3


	4. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt stared at the ground as Minho led them back to Newt’s room, his chest feeling hollow. 
> 
> He’d told Thomas what Lawrence’s plan was. 
> 
> Thomas ratted him out. Thomas _betrayed_ him.

Thomas leaned his forehead against the door, straining to listen.

The shuffling sound of footsteps faded. Still, it must’ve been another five minutes before he heard Newt’s muffled voice.

“Alright, you can come out now.”

Thomas did so with exaggerated extravagance, grinning. “I came out of the closet.”

Newt rolled his eyes without bothering to even look up from the gun he was cleaning.

“One of these times, someone is gonna see you,” Newt said, placing the bullets on the bedspread beside him. “You really shouldn’t be here.”

Unlike the past few weeks, Newt’s words had little conviction behind them. He sounded as if he was saying them on principle, not because he meant it.

Thomas joined him on the bed, plopping down hard enough to jostle him.

Newt winced and shot him a dirty look.

Thomas threw his hands up. “Sorry, sorry! Forgot.”

“Oh, you forgot I got _shot_ in the _bloody leg_? Must be nice.”

Thomas frowned. “You know, for an assassin, you’re kinda sassy.”

His frown was quickly replaced with a beaming smile. “You’re a _sass_ assin.”

The corner of Newt’s mouth quirked up.

Thomas poked him in the side. “Oh come on, that was _funny_.”

“Literally shut the fuck up,” Newt deadpanned, but there was a hint of a laugh buried in his voice. He placed the gun in his lap and turned fully to Thomas. “Couldn’t you be doing something productive?”

Thomas shrugged, toying with a fray on his jeans.

“Not really,” he said, his tone the epitome of casual, but he couldn’t help but cringe internally when Newt hummed and returned to his task.

He _was_ supposed to be doing something. But how was he meant to get information when he was only spending time with Newt?

Newt lived on the outskirts of the Griever gang, making it relatively easy to sneak in. But going further into Griever territory? To the heart of the beast?

Thomas didn’t think he was ready. He was scared.

He crossed his ankles, watching Newt’s deft hands work over the pistol.

“So, Newt.”

Newt grunted, squinting in concentration at the gun.

“Why were you supposed to shoot me in the first place?”

Newt’s gaze flicked up, expression unreadable.

“...If you don’t mind my asking,” Thomas added hastily.

Newt looked at him for a long moment.

Thomas was dying to know what he was thinking.

“Let me finish this first,” Newt said and gestured to the pistol. “Then we can talk.”

Thomas nodded and allowed him to get back to cleaning the gun.

Newt’s fingers moved with a professional quickness, reloading each bullet into the chamber in slick, practiced movements. He looked at the gun approvingly, leaning over to set it back on the counter.

“Lawrence is our leader. Vince, our second-in-command, is the one who put me on the job. Not sure if you knew, Tommy, but I’m one of the best assassins here.”

Thomas did know. He also knew Newt was stalling.

“So, why did Vince want me killed?”

“You mean ‘why _does_ Vince want you killed’. And it’s not him, it’s Lawrence. He sees you as the brains of the Slicers. His logic is that, with you out of the way, the rest of the Slicers will sort of collapse.”

Thomas frowned at the floor, thinking. “Wait, why–”

“Shut up,” Newt snapped. Thomas looked up, only to see Newt staring at the door.

“What, why?” Thomas said.

“ _Hush_ ,” Newt said lowly. “Did you hear that?”

The words ‘hear what?’ burned in his throat, but he shook his head instead of uttering them.

Newt stood quickly, using Thomas’s shoulder as a crutch.

Nothing.

Newt stared at the door. “I swear I heard–”

 _Then_ Thomas heard it. The shuffle of footsteps coming closer and a thin whistling.

Newt’s eyes widened.

Before Thomas could even think to get up, Newt had a hard grip on his wrist and was pulling him to his feet.

“Come on,” Newt hissed, yanking Thomas back over to the closet. To Thomas’s silent surprise, Newt pressed in behind him before shutting the closet door.

The whistling stopped.

The door to the room, which Newt _always_ kept shut, squeaked open.

“Newt?” The voice was one Thomas recognized.

A noise escaped Thomas’s throat. A clammy hand closed over his mouth.

Thomas could feel Newt’s heart hammering against his back and his warm, shuddering breath against his neck.

The grip on Thomas’s wrist tightened.

Lawrence chuckled, a deep, disturbing sound that shook Thomas to his core.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to get that far with the leg,” he said to himself. “Maybe I underestimated you. You really are one of my best.”

He hummed thoughtfully. Then began whistling.

The noise faded quickly, and Thomas listened hard for the sound of the door clicking shut, but he couldn’t hear much of anything over the shaky breathing in his ear.

He tried to turn, but found he didn’t have nearly enough room in their closed quarters. The hand dropped from his mouth and gripped his shirt instead.

“Are you okay?” he whispered over his shoulder.

Newt breathed out slowly and a sudden weight fell onto Thomas’s shoulder.

“Newt?” Thomas said.

“Yeah?” His voice was muffled into Thomas’s shirt.

“Is he gone?”

Newt went silent. Thomas felt the grip on his wrist begin to loosen.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, he’s gone.”

Thomas didn’t know how to reply. He thought maybe he should bring up the fact that they were still shut in the closet together, but he couldn’t get the words out.

And Newt clearly wasn’t keen on talking. Thomas could still feel his heart beating against his back, so fast it genuinely concerned him.

Thomas wished he could turn around.

“Hey,” he said, still speaking quietly, and reached back to find Newt’s hand in the dark. Newt’s hold on Thomas’s shirt didn’t seem likely to release any time soon, so Thomas moved his other arm, and Newt’s fingers slipped from Thomas’s wrist.

Thomas took Newt’s trembling hand in his own and wrapped it around his stomach in a weird, half-hug.

He thought about patting his arm, telling him it was okay, but Newt was an assassin. Thomas figured he wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.

Instead they stood in silence for a long while, Thomas listening to the sound of Newt’s breathing as it slowly began to even out.

“Hey–”

Footsteps outside, loud and smacking hard against the cement floor. Whoever it was, they were running, and running towards the room. The steps stopped at the door.

“Newt, you in here?” Though breathless, Thomas recognized the voice as Minho’s.

He used his elbow to push the closet door open. “In here.”

Minho’s gaze darted over, and he physically did a double-take at the sight of them in the closet.

“Uhh, wha– okay, I’m not gonna comment on whatever you guys are doing in there, but Newt, Thomas has to leave. Lawrence is doing perimeter checks.”

Newt’s head lifted from Thomas’s shoulder. The spot felt oddly cold.

“I realized,” Newt said weakly.

Minho’s eyes lit up with realization. “Shit, did he come in here?”

Newt didn’t answer, so Thomas did instead.

Minho nodded slowly. “Well, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Newt said, attempting to sound annoyed but sounding more miserable than anything.

“How’d you even get in there? Yesterday you could barely stand,” Minho said, brow creased in concern.

“Uh, panic?” Newt said. Minho snorted.

Thomas noticed then how heavily Newt was leaning against him. Not only that, but the tremors that wracked Newt’s body.

Minho walked over. “Come on, let’s get you sitting.”

Newt’s weight vanished from Thomas’s back, finally allowing him to turn around. He was surprised by the sight of Newt’s face.

He was pale, and sweat matted his hair to his forehead. His mouth was set in a firm line, but his eyes betrayed his pain.

Thomas stepped out of the closet, allowed Minho to help Newt turn towards the bed, then quickly plastered himself to Newt’s left side, his arm snaking around his waist to help take some weight off of his bad leg.

The walk, despite being only five normal-sized steps and with Thomas and Minho supporting Newt on either side, was slow-going and took far longer than it should have. This was likely because Newt’s stubborn ass was still attempting to use both legs, rather than keeping his bad one off the floor. Though he tried to mask his pain, every small step made a different sound escape Newt’s throat, each more heart-wrenching than the last.

They got halfway there when Newt put a bit too much weight on his bad leg. He would’ve went down if not for Thomas and Minho.

They heaved him upright and the action was followed by a small, choked gasp.

Thomas looked at Newt, who had his eyes shut and was breathing like he’d ran a marathon.

“Minho, back off,” Thomas said. Perhaps it was the cold harshness of his tone, or maybe the look that followed, but Minho listened without pause, relocating himself to a spot across the room, staying far out of the way.

Newt’s weight leaned heavily on him. With gritted teeth, Thomas crouched down, placed his free arm against the back of Newt’s thighs, and scooped him up.

“ _Put me down_ ,” Newt said, his voice something close to a snarl.

And Thomas did put him down. On the bed. Very gently, as to not further cause pain.

He straightened up, matching Newt’s scowl with one of his own. He turned to Minho.

“I gotta go,” he said.

Minho’s emotions warred on his face for a brief moment. “I don’t…”

His eyes darted to Newt, and Thomas understood.

“You don’t have to escort me, I’ll be fine. Stay here with him, make sure he stays in bed.”

“Fuck off,” Newt muttered, the venom in his words finally striking a chord in Thomas.

He frowned, debated flipping Newt off, but instead left. Newt was a stubborn brat on a _good_ day, which this definitely wasn’t. With any luck, Minho would either talk some sense into him or ask why Newt freaked out so bad about Lawrence’s appearance (though Thomas thought maybe it was because the dude shot him in the fucking leg).

At least Thomas could return to the Slicers with some relevant information. Why the Grievers wanted him dead, for one. And that Lawrence wasn’t above harming his own people, but Thomas had a feeling Ava knew that already. Still, it gave Thomas a certain level of hope that they could get some of the Grievers to leave Lawrence’s reign of terror and join the Slicers.

Not much hope, though.

He abandoned his thoughts and tuned back into his surroundings. He found that he was already halfway back home.

And it was snowing.

Not snowing _hard_ , exactly, but enough for Thomas to look up in open-mouthed wonder.

 _Newt, the buzzkill, probably hates snow_ , Thomas thought bitterly.

He trekked the rest of the way home with conflicting feelings of contentment and irritation.

***

As he approached the building the Slicers used as their headquarters, Thomas could see a shadow vanish from behind one of the few windows in the large, mostly bare brick walls. He took a deep breath in, enjoying the crisp air filling his lungs, before stepping into the building.

He was immediately greeted by Ava’s stern exterior. Even though she herself wasn’t that tall, her presence always seemed to tower over everyone she met. Today was no different.

“Thomas, this is the fourth time you’ve gone out to see the Grievers, and you’ve never returned with viable information. Tell me you have something now or we’ll put someone else on the job.”

The thing with Ava was, she was never very explicit. She was nowhere _near_ as violent as Lawrence, but “putting someone else on the job” was bound to mean more, and Thomas wasn’t keen on finding out what.

He thanked the heavens above that Newt had finally decided to spill something useful.

“Maybe we need to discuss this in private,” Thomas stated.

Ava led him to her office, ordering him to shut the door before sitting down in the grand, black chair behind her wooden desk.

“So. What did you find?”

Thomas was silent for a moment, putting his thoughts in order. He’d need to tell her what he found out, without betraying Newt or letting her know he’d actually spoken to any of the Grievers.

“Lawrence wants more power.”

Ava stared blankly at him, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly, her hands folded on her desk. “Yes. I am aware. Ever since he took over, he’s been hungry for more.”

Thomas nodded. “Yes, but he seems to have a strategy now. He wants to make us, our whole structure, collapse. He’s not interested in a bloodbath, not when he doesn’t think it’s necessary.”

Ava leaned forward slightly. “Then what is he interested in?”

Thomas gulped. “He doesn’t want to take out as many people as possible. He’s going for the neck. He’s going to focus on the higher ranks. He wants to take out the most important people to make us fall like a house of cards.”

“So, me, then? I’m a target?”

Thomas shook his head. “I’m thinking he’s going for the ones right below you. It kind of makes sense.”

Ava pursed her lips together, her forehead wrinkling slightly as she thought.

“Janson, perhaps?”

Thomas hesitated. “I mean, maybe, but I was thinking more me or Teresa.”

He debated on how to phrase his thoughts. “I, um...I can talk to her about it, but there’s been a few times I’ve gone out where I felt I was being watched.”

This was the truth. He’d had the feeling for days leading up to his attempted murder.

“And you’re sure it’s not just paranoia?” Ava said, leaning back in her chair.

“Yes, ma’am. Positive.”

“Well, then, perhaps we should give someone else the task of undercover spy work.”

Thomas’s heart jolted. “I-I mean, not to be disrespectful, but I’m pretty positive I can take care of myself if something were to happen.”

Ava hummed slowly. “Maybe someone to watch your back, then?”

Thomas would definitely prefer not. He breathed out.

“If you think that’s best,” he said reluctantly.

She looked at him, deep in thought. Finally she began to speak.

“I want to know what _you_ think, Thomas. You’re evidently strong and intelligent enough to get around the Griever’s base safely, as you haven’t been caught yet; and you certainly have your high-ranking for a reason. Whatever you prefer, that’s your choice to make. But if you’d like someone to go with you, you’d need to choose who.”

She frowned. “And not Teresa either. If the Grievers happened to find the two of you, it wouldn’t end well.”

“Of course,” Thomas nodded. He agreed. If anyone, he’s probably pick Ben. But Ben had been a Griever back when Jorge was still their leader. And he’d left to join the Slicers, a decision that meant leaving his Soulmate behind. He probably wouldn’t be too eager to go back, despite that he’d left months ago.

If he were to take someone with him, that meant it would have to be someone he trusted completely, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to visit Newt again. And no matter how much the Griever seemed to despise him, Thomas wasn’t planning on giving up on him just yet.

“I think it’s best if I keep going alone. If I bring someone else along, there’s a bigger chance that we get caught. And I don’t want to put someone else’s life on the line.”

Ava nodded. “If that’s what you think is best. However, if you feel you are in danger, take someone with you. Use them as a shield if necessary. If needed, I’d rather lose someone of the lower ranks than lose you. We can’t let Lawrence win.” 

Thomas felt something stir in his stomach when Ava ordered him to do so. Sacrificing someone else while he was perfectly able to protect himself felt so _wrong._

As one of the only members with zero confirmed kills, and with no intent to change that anytime soon, Thomas felt sick at the thought of having to kill or having someone die for him. Sure, he was able to defend himself and take others out, but that wasn’t his job. He kept himself busy with tasks that required _other_ talents. Break-ins, drug work, anything that needed as little violence as possible, with preferably no deaths.

How ironic that his Soulmate’s job was to cause them.

Once again, Thomas thought of Newt, who had been shot because he was supposed to kill him and failed; who made up a story to protect him instead of telling the truth and having someone else put a bullet in Thomas’s head like he was supposed to do. He sacrificed his stable position, his leg, his _safety._ All for Thomas.

Maybe Newt didn’t despise him as much as he thought.

“I will, ma’am,” he eventually uttered, taking in a deep breath. He’d take someone with him if needed, but he’d make sure they’d get away in one piece. No one would die if he could help it.

Ava nodded once more. “Good. Now, go get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

***

“Bloody hell, I need a smoke.” Newt groaned.  
  
Minho looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you’d quit?”  
  
“Not anymore.”  
  
Minho shook his head in a disapproving manner. “That stuff’ll kill you, ya know.”  
  
The two looked at each other, matching grins on their faces. They hadn’t heard their recurring joke in quite a bit.  
  
“Why, though?” Minho asked. “You’ve been doing just fine without smoking.”  
  
Newt huffed, leaning back against the headboard of his bed. His leg was propped up on a pillow—Minho was adamant on him keeping it still after he’d nearly passed out from the pain earlier that day.

“Why do you care?”  
  
“Because I’d rather see you go out in a blaze of glory than watch you die from something stupid like lung cancer.”

“Valid reason,” Newt chuckled. “I’m just stressed is all. Cigarettes used to help me calm down. Clear my head. I’m hoping they’ll do the same now.”  
  
Minho shook his head once again as he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket to fish out his packet of cigarettes. “Two years down the drain,” he muttered as he threw Newt the packet.  
  
“Cheers to that.” Newt flicked open the carton and slipped out a cigarette and the lighter Minho kept in the packet, handing the rest back to his friend before putting the cigarette in between his lips. He lit the fag and inhaled, feeling the familiar burn of smoke in his throat.  
  
“I don’t understand why he keeps coming back,” he said, seeing the smoke escape his mouth and climb up along the edges of his face.  
  
“Uh, because he likes you?” he said dubiously. His voice held a note of irritation, but also amusement.  “Are you really that thick?”

“Piss off.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Minho smiled. “So, why do you keep _letting_ him come back?”  
  
Newt sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t really help it. And it’s not like he would listen to me, anyways. Tommy’s more stubborn than I am. He picked me _up_ today. What was he _thinking_? The bastard.”  
  
When he didn’t get a response, Newt looked over to the side to see Minho looking at him like he’d just won the lottery.  
  
“What?”  
  
Minho’s grin grew. “Did you just say _Tommy_?”  
  
Newt felt his heart sink. “No.” he quickly said, taking another puff of the cigarette to hide the blush creeping up his neck.  
  
“You _did_ , though. I knew the whole cold demeanor was just an act. You’re smitten.”  
  
“I’m not, and if you say one more word, I’ll put this out on you.” He held up the cigarette in front of his face.

“Aww, I love it when you get defensive like that. Really brings out the bitch in your character.”  
  
Newt passed the cigarette to his left hand, leaning over to Minho and slamming it down, not even getting close to hitting Minho.

“I’ll kill you,” he muttered angrily when Minho did nothing but laugh out loud.  
  
Newt pulled his arm back to his face before he pushed himself back up, feeling his face burn brighter than the fag now dangling from his lips.

Minho’s laughter was immediately killed when the door slammed open.  
  
Both of them looked up to see Gally standing in the doorway.  
  
“Lawrence called a meeting. Be there in two minutes,” he told them before closing the door and walking off again, his footsteps echoing down the hall.  
  
“Eloquent as always,” Minho remarked. “What do you think Lawrence wants? First the perimeter checks, now this.”  
  
Newt sighed, feeling the fear build in his chest. “I don’t know, but I doubt that it’s any good. Help me up.”  
  
Minho stood up and walked to the side of the bed where Newt was sitting, pulling him up and slinging one arm over his shoulder for support. “You ready?”  
  
“Yeah,” Newt nodded, pressing the cigarette out in the old ashtray he still had on his nightstand. “Let’s go.” 

  
  
The room was crowded, the sheer number of people enough to make Newt feel like he was choking. Lawrence’s presence on the balcony wasn’t helping either; he loomed over the crowd, like a vulture hanging above its prey, ready to swoop down and kill.

Newt and Minho stayed near the edge of the crowd to let Newt lean against the wall; standing on two feet for the entire meeting wasn’t exactly something Newt would be looking forward to.  
  
“Welcome. Thank you all for joining me today.” Lawrence’s voice swept over the crowd, silencing everyone as the words echoed off the walls, filling the room.  
  
“This meeting won’t be long,” Lawrence spoke, gripping the metal bars of the balcony tightly. “As a matter of fact, I only want to tell you one thing.”  
  
Newt raised an eyebrow, shifting all his weight to his good leg.  
  
“The Slicers are onto us.”  
  
The crowd roared, and with one flick of his hand the noise died down again. “They don’t know our exact plan or reasons. They just know who we want to target. But that is enough to sabotage us. There is a traitor in our midst.”  
  
Lawrence lowered his hands, allowing the people to speak again, angry shouts and tentative mutters immediately charging the room with tension.  
  
“I am not accusing anyone. But I am trusting you to. When you have suspicions, come to me with proof and we will take the necessary precautions. For now, I want you to be alert.” His good eye swept across the room, and Newt felt cold as Lawrence’s gaze flicked over him.  
  
“Trust no one.”  
  
Lawrence slowly turned around and stalked off, disappearing through the steel doors behind the balcony. With both hushed whispers and frantic accusations, the members seeped out of the room, Newt and Minho following like they were supposed to.  
  
Newt stared at the ground as Minho led them back to Newt’s room, his chest feeling hollow.  
  
He’d told Thomas what Lawrence’s plan was.  
  
Thomas ratted him out. Thomas _betrayed_ him.

Anger slowly filled the cavity in his chest, and he clenched his jaw as he felt a fiery rage waging war on his blood. He had _trusted_ him. He was _supposed_ to be able to trust him. And now he’d gone and done this.

He’d gone and risked their safety, along with the safety of everyone Newt knew, for _what_? To gain some sort of respect?

A thought struck Newt like a hammer to the ribs. _Had Thomas been spying the entire time?_

And he knew the answer almost immediately.

“Hey, Minho?”

The man in question looked over, raising an eyebrow.

“Give me another cigarette,” he said, voice low and quaking with barely suppressed rage.

Minho handed the carton over without a word. He helped sit Newt on his bed, and he slipped away in silence, leaving Newt to his thoughts.

Newt pulled a cigarette from the pack, placed it between his lips, and lit the end.

Smoke wafted upward, and Newt could still feel the tension from the meeting crackling in the air.

A storm was brewing.

And it would end in a wildfire raging so violently that they’d be lucky to survive at all.

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of this mess of an AU hell yes
> 
> So, thanks, Eleanor (astralpenguin), for giving me a gang au idea! I combined this with a soulmate prompt I found somewhere online (soulmates can't hurt each other) and there we go this mess was born enjoy  
> Also, massive thanks to Dreams for coming up with the title!
> 
> As always, kudos, comments, and feedback is always appreciated!  
> <3


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